I am so consumed with my grief that I don’t realize someone is there until she speaks. There is no dramatic reaction from me, I don’t jump, I don’t start, all I do is stop and look at her. I’m disappointed and I don’t know why. Maybe I was hoping Samael would’ve stepped out of the forest and spoke words of harsh sarcasm, instead I see a mare with fire radiating off of her, yet doesn’t char her flesh. My Father did such a trick a millennia ago with some peasant and a bush, so if she expects me to be in awe of her wonder she will have to think again. “I wasn’t stricken by your ‘wraiths nor was I ‘infected’.” My tone is harshly indifferent with obvious undertones of grief. There are no words to express the heaviness in my chest. “Nor do I bring pestilence to your home… What struck me would make these wraiths you speak of into dust with a mere look.” I get a hold of my grief and bury it deep within, after a deep breath I rein in my expressions and put up that stone wall.

The mortal draws nearer and then proceeds to speak, and instead of threatening me she offers me help. Such indecisive beings those of the flesh are. One moment they tell you to leave and the next they offer assistance. Such fleeting lives these poor beings have, and so little this girl knows. Oh I wonder what it’s like to live in a world where the beginning is a mystery and there is a definite end. Father, I will live amongst these beings for your sake. If this is a trial, I will pass it.

“Your help I assume is only of the flesh.” I look down at my feet and see the piles of ash. All that remains of ties to my true self. “Why help me though? It’s not as if I can give anything in return to you, and you know not of my origin or my intentions.” It’s mostly genuinely curiosity that pushes me to ask, I’ve encountered many hospitable men and each one has earned the blessing of the Father through their service to me. It’s odd to not have this mortal cower in fear or fall at my feet in worship, instead she pities me, but then I realize, this mare could’ve been a final blessing. Thank you, I say to my father, despite the anger and hurt inside of my heart. “I am Lee.” A lie, but it is instinctual, I am used to the path of disguise to accomplish my tasks. For once, it doesn’t matter whether they know my true name. This is a land of pagans and none will know of my true self. “Which is short for… Hamaliel.” The name rolls of my tongue with hurt and my carefully sculpted expression breaks and I feel the grief return and grasping me in a stranglehold. Tears threaten at the edge of my eyes and a sob tries to rack my frame but comes out as a choked noise instead. This level of feeling is so intense; I don’t know how to cope with it all, the grief, the disownment, the pain roaring from my shoulders, but most of all I don’t know how to cope with the emotion. “My displays of emotion are unnecessary, I hope you can excuse me, I am still… Coping.”

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